


Like Real People Do

by anunsungrequiem



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon Era, Everyone Needs A Hug, First Kiss, Help, Late Night Conversations, Love Confessions, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anunsungrequiem/pseuds/anunsungrequiem
Summary: Honey just put your sweet lips on my lipsWe should just kiss like real people do





	Like Real People Do

The scent of whiskey and determination hung low in the air, silence replacing what had once been cries of revolution. The people had decided that it was far too late for revolution, giving in to human exhaustion as they waved goodnight to their friends. The people where sleeping, the country was sleeping, and Grantaire was awake; seated alone at a table in the corner, allowing himself to drown in the silence around him. It wasn’t the first night that Grantaire had sat alone, these nights were so common as a matter of fact that his friends had grown well-used to shaking him awake when morning came, no longer bothering to ask why he had fallen asleep with his head on a table rather than in a bed. It was clear that they worried for Grantaire, on some occasions Bossuet and Joly even trying to steer him towards happiness, it was more that things never changed with Grantaire. Among these revolutionaries was a lost soul, one that showed no sign of being found anytime within the near future.

Grantaire was no longer the person that he was even five to eight years ago. His sense of liberty and idealism gone within a flash, replaced instead by melancholy. A shell of his previous self; Grantaire found it hard to even recognize himself in the mirror, not that he wanted to look in the first place. What was once a world of light and color quickly faded, leaving Grantaire in a strange town filled to the brim with strange people. It was unwelcoming, scary at times, and even though Grantaire may have known the roads like the back of his hands he still found himself feeling unsafe; the only safety that remained was in the musain, where he could always be surrounded by his friends, though he knew he was less than welcome there. A revolution was no place for a drunk, no place for a man with no ideals, and Enjolras had made that clear enough.

Enjolras; the leader in red yet it was clear that he was much more than just a leader. He was a man with revolution buried deep in his bones, fire that called for a new world behind his cerulean eyes, and determination in every ounce of his being. When he spoke you did not hear him, rather you heard the cries of the beaten, the cries of those subdued time and time again. Enjolras was much more than a man; he was a fallen angel, kind and passionate yet more than capable of being terrible if he saw fit. Grantaire may have been incapable of believing, of living or even dying, but at the very least he knew he was capable of love. Alas, Grantaire loved Enjolras as he had never loved any man or concept or work of art before; he was a dog, willing to follow his master to the ends of the Earth if it was called for.

Perhaps that was where the irony was located; a man who questioned everything was willing to follow another blindly. From the day they were born Grantaire had been bound to Enjolras, their fates intertwined with nothing that they could do to change it. Loving Enjolras was like loving a flame, getting too close always resulted in getting burned, and though Grantaire had been burned countless times he always ended up crawling back, even if just to catch another glance. There was nothing that a blind man loved more than the light and Enjolras was the brightest light of them all. In a nation that was dead Enjolras was alive, a glistening star among a muted sky. Enjolras was a star, destined to shine brightly while he was alive, and destined to one day die the most astounding death. It didn’t take a genius to know that Enjolras was running out of time, that any day now death would catch him, and liberty would die with thunderous applause.

“You’re up awfully late,” A voice spoke.

Grantaire didn’t even need to fully turn his head in order to recognize who had been speaking. Enjolras’ voice was like no other, demanding some sort of attention, even when spoken in hushed tones.

“I’m usually awake at this hour. Leave me be,”

“You have never been awake,” Enjolras shot back, his words spoken with a certain ferocity that only he was capable of. “Even now, you’re merely up. You are incapable of ever truly being awake.”

The room fell absolutely silent, their glances saying much more than words ever could. Within Enjolras’ eyes there was the same fire as always, the same anger and determination that drew Grantaire in. Though Grantaire couldn’t see his eyes he knew himself well enough to know that they only held desperation and melancholy, he knew himself well enough to know that there was no fire in his eyes and that there hadn’t been one in quite some time, he knew that his eyes only mirror the ugliness of his soul. A man like him, a man that was ugly and held no beliefs, had no right to even look at a person like Enjolras. The again, Grantaire was much too far gone to care.

“Why are you here?” Grantaire asked, his words colder than ice itself.

“I can leave if you’re that insis-”

“I never said that,” Grantaire snapped, not concerned in the slightest about how he had interrupted Enjolras. “It’s far too late, you have no business being up at this hour.”

“The same can be said of you,”

“I exist as a creature of the night,” Grantaire retorted, picking up a bottle and holding it to his lips. “Why are you up?”

Enjolras watched Grantaire take a swig from the bottle, his brow furrowed in sort of lost concentration. Grantaire leaned back in his seat, awaiting some sort of criticism from the other party. Instead no criticism came, rather the two remained silent, existing alone in time with each other. It was in these moments that Grantaire was truly aware of his surroundings; how everything in the room seemed so much smaller, how the candlelight flickered giving Enjolras a glow that was comparable to the glow of a halo, how he was close enough to hear each and every breath that Enjolras took. No words were spoken, no words **needed** to be spoken in order for them to understand the situation. An understanding, no matter how subconscious, that at the end of the day Enjolras and Grantaire names would always be spoken in succession.

“May I sit?” Enjolras’ tone had softened slightly, not losing the passion or conviction within it, but still gaining a certain gentleness that until now had never been directed at Grantaire.

Grantaire simply gestured to a seat next to him, seemingly waiting for Enjolras to make a move. For a moment there were no movements, as a matter of fact Enjolras looked as though he was biting his tongue or searching for some reason to run away. Run he did not however, instead he took his seat beside Grantaire just as silently as he had entered the room. The silence between the two was heavy, enough to make it feel like Grantaire was suffocating at the very least, but at the same time there was a sort of calmness that overcame him; if you could make a home out of a feeling than Grantaire would want to make a home out of whatever warmth he felt right now, as though Enjolras and Grantaire were always meant to be close. He wanted to make a home from that protection, alas feelings where fleeting, that was what made them so truly special. There was still no denying that Grantaire found comfort in this, as though he and Enjolras where always mean to be this close; if only they lived in another time and another place.

In these moments Grantaire allowed himself to take a proper look at Enjolras, not just stare at him as though he where a stature cast from marble as he had so many times before, but instead thoroughly study Enjolras’ face as though this was the last time that he would ever be able to take it in. Last times where coming soon, it took a fool to be unaware of this, and when his friends fell he knew that he would die by their side so long as they permit it, so long as Enjolras permit it. Until now Grantaire never noticed how revolution had taken its toll on Enjolras, none of his features changing dramatically, but beyond the long lashes and cerulean eyes was a young man that was carrying the weight of the world. It wasn’t a secret that many of the amis had spent time attempting to get their leader to take a break, though never to any avail. Enjolras always claimed that he would be fine by himself, that he could carry the weight of the world alone, but tonight it was clear that was not the case. Enjolras’ furrowed brow and eyes that seemed to be lost in concentration only brought one thing to the surface, that something was seriously troubling Enjolras, and Grantaire wasn’t about to drop it. 

“What’s bothering you, my dear Apollo?” The pet name was something that had been born many meetings ago, whether it was out of spite or admiration Grantaire couldn’t quite remember, but it always had a way of getting into Enjolras’ head; this night, however intimate, wasn’t any exception as judged by the look that Enjolras shot at Grantaire.

“I’m just restless,” Enjolras decided.

His words seemed to ring true, never before had Grantaire seen Enjolras so frantic, but it was still off. The words came out of Enjolras’ mouth with an almost inhuman stoicism, as though he had been robbed of all feeling and belief. For a moment another world flickered inside Grantaire’s mind, a world where Enjolras wasn’t Enjolras but instead a man of no beliefs or ambitions like Grantaire himself, he decided that such a world must have been a glimpse into a nightmare. Enjolras wasn’t Enjolras without a cause to fight for, without a cause to fight for. As long as the world needed a rebel Enjolras would be there, whether in this form or another, and as long as Enjolras was there Grantaire wouldn’t be far behind. The sudden stoicism; however, was just further proof that Enjolras wasn’t okay, that Enjolras needed somebody to talk to. The thought that maybe Enjolras had sought out Grantaire made his heart race in all of the wrong ways, all of the ways that he would continue to keep to himself, even if deep down he knew that Enjolras was more than aware of his effect on Grantaire.

“I never took you for the restless type,”

“You never took me for anything more than a God in your fantasy Grantaire,” Enjolras snapped.

All that Grantaire could do was stare, unsure of what to say next. There was the part of him that wanted to yell at the top of his lungs or cry, the part of him that wanted to defend himself and his thoughts, the part of him that wanted to be vulgar and irrational just because he could. It was childish, Grantaure was more than aware of this fact, but he was also aware that hostility would result in nothing but more damage done on both sides. If he was so determined to bicker with Enjolras he had any opportunity, the two seeing each other more as the scheduled meetings increased, now though, was no time for bickering. Enjolras needed support, he needed something that perhaps the others couldn’t give to him, there was no other reason he would even bother to associate himself with Grantaire, and Grantaire being the fool that he was would bend over backwards to give Enjolras the world that he deserved. This path was dangerous, it was full of hurt, but Grantaire loved the way that it made him feel alive.

“I see you as strong, intelligent, brave. I see you as a man of the people and a man of liberty. I see you as a person that is capable of both a world of good and a world of bad. You are charming and know precisely how to win people over, you are determined beyond belief, you are full of hope for the future,” Grantaire started, “But I also see you at the meetings. I see how you can be impulsive and quick to anger, but above that I see how you care for your friends, how you don’t want them to get hurt but you know that there is no other choice, how you have faith in the people, how you’re willing to drive yourself mad in the name of fairness. I see you as Enjolras; divine in nature perhaps, but even so. There is something tragically mortal about you.”

Another moment of silence washed over the two, Enjolras taking his turn to stare at Grantaire. Well, maybe staring wasn’t exactly the right word for what Enjolras did, if anything it was closer to glancing at Grantaire guiltily before looking back at the wooden table in front of them as quickly as his body would allow. There seemed to be traces of disgust in his expression, Grantaire found himself unsure of whether it was just a result of the guilt or if it was just unbearable to look at Grantaire for more than a minute; either way Grantaire couldn’t find it in himself to blame Enjolras. It was easy to assume that Grantaire only cared for the idealized version of Enjolras, for this Apollo that he saw in his head, but that was something that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He knew that Enjolras could be ruthless and cold, he knew that Enjolras had the capacity to be cruel and lash out in times of stress; Grantaire was usually at the end of this side of Enjolras, it didn’t change the fact that Grantaire felt safe with him and cared for him, flaws and all. 

“Can I have a drink?” Enjolras broke the silence, gesturing weakly to the bottle resting by Grantaire’s arm.

In all honesty, Grantaire didn’t know if whether to laugh or be genuinely concerned. Enjolras had never been the drinking type before, often times pointing it out as a major flaw of Grantaire's. The revolution was no place for drunkenness, no place for Grantaire, yet he always stayed much to Enjolras’ dismay, and as much as Enjolras may have complained about Grantaire’s presence he never did anything to prevent the cynic from attending meetings. 

“Why?” Grantaire asked, a feeling in his gut telling him that just handing Enjolras the bottle was a bad idea, that it was the opposite of what he needed.

“Do I need a reason to drink now?” Enjolras spat.

“You’ve never drank before,”

“And? What do my previous actions have anything to do with my current situation?"

As Enjolras glanced back at Grantaire’s their eyes met, for a moment or a second, but long enough for Grantaire to see the vulnerability in Enjolras eyes. Behind the deep blues and fire of the revolution there was something painfully human; fear, despair, longing, all things that Enjolras had likely been hiding for the longest time. It was enough to make Grantaire feel somewhat sick took his stomach, to the point where he just wanted to apologize to Enjolras for not having realized sooner. Grantaire stopped himself before he could act on his gut instinct, knowing Enjolras well enough to know that the last thing that he would ever want in these moments was an apology, if Enjolras wanted to discuss it then he wanted a true discussion, he never wanted to be treated like he was weak, he never wanted people to apologize to him. Maybe it was an issue of pride, Enjolras thought too highly of himself to allow himself to be hurt, but Grantaire wasn’t about to cross that boundary regardless; this was more serious than their insult wars would ever be. 

“R,” Enjolras whispered, the name flowing from his mouth as though it were sweet wine, yet there was something so raw and sharp about it. “Do you think this is all in vain?”

And the weight of Enjolras’ words clicked with a sort of bitterness that even absinthe couldn't match. All that they had been preparing for—the rise of the people to at last form a just society—was now nearer than ever before. It was no longer the whisperings of schoolboys, nor the echoes of a rebellious youth, rather the cries of an unheard people who were preparing to take a stand, even if it would be their last. Their youth had come and gone, and within days they would be nothing more than blood on the streets, a glimpse of what the world could be. It was a grim reality, Enjolras knew this fact, and now he was asking Grantaire if he believed it all to be in vain.  
In these moments their roles had reversed.

In these moments Grantaire wanted nothing more than to make sure that Enjolras was okay.

“If the world should end tomorrow, I know for a fact that there would still be you,” Grantaire answered truthfully, looking into Enjolras’ eyes with a mix of pain and desperation. “Yours is a flame that can never be extinguished, one formed deep within your bones. Who can tell if it is a gift or a curse? But above all else, I know one thing. I have always believed in you.” The words hurt leaving Grantaire's mouth, but at the same time saying them had felt right. “If there were ever a person destined to change the world, it would be you, my dear Apollo. And have it be known that anywhere you go I intend to follow, even if it means being led through hell.”

At some point Enjolras had taken Grantaire's hand, warmth flooding into his fingers. He had never known how cold he was until this man, how much had changed in an instant, and now time was being stolen away from them. This was their moment in time, and even if nothing where to last until tomorrow, they at least had what they were always supposed to have. It was a mutual understanding, that perhaps when the universe was created their souls had been right next to one another, destined to find each other again even if it were in the worst circumstances. Their story was never bound to have a happy ending, it was never bound to be perfect, but a story of bonded souls meeting at the wrong time.

This chaos was theirs to hold and theirs to keep.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras started, but before he could get another word out Grantaire cupped the man's cheek with his free hand.

‘''I love you.”

And in what felt like an instant Enjolras pressed his lips onto Grantaire's, not knowing what would come tomorrow, but desperate to cherish their moment for as long as it could last. The kiss was eventually reciprocated by Grantaire, carrying a tenderness that was uncharacteristic but warm. It was desperate but slow, not meant to be rushed, and perhaps their tragic way of saying goodbye. All great poets wrote of nights to never be forgotten, just as all Operas had their arias of lost love and booking epilogues, but this was the work of neither poets nor composers. The kiss was destroyed and perhaps a bit wrong, but it was their own reality, and while it lasted they would kiss just like real people do.

Eventually Enjolras pulled away, touching his forehead to Grantaire's as his hand lingered just above his heart. At some point during the kiss either Grantaire or Enjolras had started crying, perhaps both, but as they looked into each other's eyes none of that seemed to matter.

“How long have you known?” Enjolras asked, his voice was hoarse naturally, but never weak.

“What came before doesn't matter.”

“Grantaire.”  
.  
Silence overcame the two of them once again, now acting only to bring out the words that remained unsaid between the two. Every single “I love you” that would never be spoken and every single kiss that would forever be lost. It was torture of the most addicting kind and for a second Grantaire wished that he had never loved this man as much as he did, that he could at once be free of all of the sadness and anger that came along with these feelings, but as soon as he wished it he regret it. If ever a person was worth the pain of existence it was Enjolras. And maybe, just maybe they would be formed together in another lifetime, in a better lifetime.

“Grantaire, I love you,” Enjolras stated, and the bold words were enough to shatter Grantaire's heart into a million pieces. 

“It's getting late. You need to go home, rest,” Grantaire sighed after a moment, shaking his head.

“I want to be with you,” Enjolras declared, his voice was kept low but firm, and Grantaire wanted nothing more than to kiss him again in these moments, but he couldn't.

“Not now, you know that.” It was all that Grantaire could muster in these seconds, but even so he was sure that Enjolras understood.

“You promise to meet me again soon?” And Enjolras had asked the question in the most hopeful way, the one that had first made Grantaire fall in love all those meetings ago.

“For you, my love, anything,” Grantaire promised, pressing a kiss to Enjolras’ had as the other got up. “I'll see you in another life, I swear, but for now we must say goodnight.” 

Enjolras bent down and pressed one final chaste kissed to Grantaire's lips before heading towards the door. There would be the barricades, still, but both Enjolras and Grantaire knew that tonight would be their last moment like this.

“Goodnight, Grantaire. I'll see you in a new life. Until then, don't drink yourself to death.”

And like that Enjolras was out the door, leaving Grantaire no time to say a goodbye, but perhaps it was Enjolras’ way of saying that it wasn't needed, they where to see each other in a new life after all. Still, Grantaire was left staring at the now vacant space next to him, a sureness present his chest that he had never felt before.

“Goodnight, Enjolras. I love you,” Grantaire whispered to himself, before picking up the bottle and raising it in the air to make a mock toast. “And let this be a toast to a new life.”

**Author's Note:**

> (AN: I'm bad at writing period/canon era pieces but that's okay, let's ignore that.)


End file.
